


Lesson Plans

by shipcat



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brief flashback to Kyuubi attack, Canon Compliant Violence, Character Study, Comedy, Gen, Humor, M/M, and he knows, everyone is out to get Iruka, oh he knows. This is his fate.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 21:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20803394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipcat/pseuds/shipcat
Summary: After a terrible, no good, really bad morning, Iruka has a moment with a masked man at his school.





	Lesson Plans

**Author's Note:**

  * For [awintersrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/awintersrose/gifts), [WrithingBeneathYou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrithingBeneathYou/gifts).

> A ship that came to life after a long car ride with my besties, [@awintersrose](https://tmblr.co/mzLGxmerlKsgxeBd6Squ5UA) and [@writhingbeneathyou](https://tmblr.co/mYboQv0oDR3HeRGAjbFtFIw)! Expect more to come from these two ;)

Each night, he remembers the dust on his mother’s hands as she tugged him away from their home. How the trees creaked and swayed, cracked and splintered, how the roars of the demon fox shook him to the core. How the earth shook as they ran, blood running down his face – how it stung his eyes. 

He remembers how that darkness fell over them, moon disappearing behind a snarling shadow. How the world went quiet; how he looked down and she was gone, except for her dirtied hands, splintered at the wrists and still holding his.

He remembers how he screamed, stumbling back. Cried, tripping into the underbrush. Wept. Wept. Wept.

Iruka wakes up, sheets twisted around his legs, panting. Invisible bugs crawl over his palms, filthy with memories where she used to be. He lays on his bed heaving for breath for several long minutes: Invisible bugs crawl over his palms, filthy with memories where she used to be.

Sanitizer. He needs hand sanitizer.

After a small scuffle with his blankets, Iruka is tripping out of bed and over positive affirmation tapes, muttering PG-13+ curses as he fumbles for the industry-sized bottle of antibacterial solution. He cleans his hands – one, two, three times exactly, before shuffling over to the bathroom and doing the same thing, this time with hand soap, moving on to brush his teeth in multiples of twelve. He moves on to comb his hair and wash his face, staring at himself in the mirror all the while. His scar returns the gaze, ever-present, always reminding, of who and what he does this for. He pauses, closing his eyes.

He remembers the mantras on his tapes.

“You can do it,” Iruka tells himself, inhaling, exhaling. “You have meaning. You have value to the village. You are capable of great things,” he continues, shrugging on his Chunnin vest. The standard issue forehead protector lays coolly against his brow. “You are necessary. You are needed.”

The mantras continue as Iruka locks up and falls into a light jog, running the class ledger through his head. Falling into his usual routine, he pokes his head over the Uchiha compound fence. A familiar head of black strolls down the empty streets, towards the training grounds. Next, he goes by the Hyuuga compound, finding Neji in the cherry blossomed courtyard, open palms flitting between petals. Studious as usual.

Nodding in approval, the teacher makes his way to the orphanage, bypassing the stump carved with his and Mizuki’s names. He smiles at the sound of kunai metal striking wood, and exuberant cheering afterwards, before going on his way, sweat trickling down his neck.

After a brief delay at the pharmacists, he stops at the memorial stone to do maintenance exercises, keeping his head low and his squats lower. 

Down. _You are—strong._ Up.

Down. _You have—value. _Up.

Down. _You’ll get—a bonus. _Up. Unfolding a bamboo mat, he switches over to push ups, then ab crunches and planks. 

A familiar orange book bobs over.

“Yo.” Kakashi greets. Iruka scrambles to stand at attention.

“Mr. Hatake!” He salutes, hurriedly wiping his hands on a rag. “What brings you—” The memorial gleams in the morning sun. “—here…?” he lamely finishes, stomach twisting with anxiety. Of course, the one attempt made at conversation and he reminds Copycat Kakashi of his dead comrades. “You’re early,” he awkwardly says, inwardly applauding himself. _A seamless transition! You go Umino!_

“Am I?” Kakashi turns a page. His eye crinkles over his mask. “Well. You’re in my spot, so...”

Iruka takes the hint.

By the time he makes his rounds by the Uzumaki apartment, he slows significantly, creeping along the banister as he reaches out with his senses, searching for that usual (chilling) chakra that –

\- isn’t there. Iruka frowns.

Nonetheless, he goes on his way, strolling into the Academy two hours before any children are set to arrive. Slipping into the staff room, he nods at the other teachers in greeting, slipping into the staff room. Clicking on the electric tea pot, Iruka sets up a cup of tea and instant ramen, absentmindedly nibbling on his pen as he reviews the day’s lessons. Mizuki, ever-diligent, scoops eggs and dried vegetables to the styrofoam cup, and winks.

“Remember to eat,” he teases, stirring the noodles.

Iruka flashes him a thankful grin. “I’ll try.”

“Trying isn’t succeeding,” Mizuki singsongs, splitting the ramen into two bowls. Iruka accepts one gratefully, returning to his planner. First, the history of the Village Founders, leading up to the Great Concord… 

His coworker, in contrast, turns to the window. A shadow falls over his face, unseen by Iruka. Then he turns away, taking pencil to sudoku.

“That headmaster of ours,” he starts, voice lilting pleasantly. “He’s an unusual fellow. Isn’t he?”

Iruka pauses, pen hovering over the death of the Second Hokage. “Kakuzu? Ah…” He very quickly crosses out several extraneous points. Too gory, too detailed, too much for five year olds to handle. “He is… - different? I’ve heard he was a refugee,” same as their families, “from… another village… Hidden Falls… a bit...hmm…” Savage isn’t the right word. Brutal? Offensive. Violent? All shinobi were. “Strict...” he chooses, sipping his tea. “Masked.” Then again, so is Kakashi.

Not much was known about Kakuzu. There was gossip, as there always is, but Iruka had long grown tired of schoolyard tittering and clan infighting. So when Iruka had been chosen to teach at an academy ruled by a would-be Hokage-slayer, he thought nothing of it, except perhaps wondering how old the man was—if a man his age should rightfully have forearms that huge. (No, he decided. That should be illegal.) 

“Ah,” Mizuki smiles at the ceiling. “Is that why he’s teaching the fox child how to kill a man?”

Iruka spits out his drink. “WHAT!?”

A snake though he may be, Mizuki was not lying.

“Right out there,” he points at the weapons range, where the headmaster was brutally demonstrating evisceration on a rather sad looking scarecrow.

With a squeak-like roar, Iruka is flying out the window before Mizuki can reply.

Never mind that Kakuzu killed the Taki village elders. Or that he was loyal to others before Konoha. Never mind that. And the rumors, that he was over one hundred years old, that he killed the previous headmaster— never mind those. This was _his_ student that Kakuzu was teaching. His!

“Remember to slice deep, and at an angle—” 

“Like pizza?”

Kakuzu decides to humor him. “...like pizza.” He shifts into an offensive stance. Knees bend, pressing sandals pushing up mounds of earth. “Hold your wrist straight,” the headmaster instructs. “Like this.” A kunai slips through the burlap skin like butter. Naruto watches as hay flutters to the ground, unhindered. 

“You will be slicing through fatty tissue, muscles, and a protective membrane.”

“Yeah yeah! That’s when we’ll find the guts, ya know?”

“Yes.” Kakuzu withdraws, placing the kunai in Naruto’s palm, deftly placing his fingers in the correct place. “There will be resistance. Don’t let it bend your wrist.”

“Mhm!” Eager, the blond rears back for a strike, yelping as his arm is caught and twisted behind him.

Iruka catches the kunai before it falls. “May I ask, Sir Headmaster,” he politely seethes. “What in Hashirama’s name are you doing?”

Bloodshot eyes narrow into thin, red blades. Iruka gulps, swallowing a lump of fear.

_Change! **Change the subject!**_His common sense shrieks. 

“He’s only ten,” he weakly manages.

_And your point? _Kakuzu crosses his arms. “I was four when I disemboweled my first man,” he states, matter of factly.

“I don’t care!” Iruka abruptly remembers his manners. “Sir.”

“What’s a bowel?” Naruto pipes up.

“The opposite of a consonant,” Iruka automatically answers.

“…soooooooo.” Naruto grins cheekily, kicking the dirt. “What’s a consonant?”

Kakuzu drops the bomb. “What you get before sexual intercourse,” he says.

“Huh? What’s that—” Naruto tilts his head, squinting in a fox-like manner. “Iruka-sensei –”

“Ignore that!” he squawks, searching for a distraction. _Deflect deflect deflect! _“Today, we’re learning low level transformation jutsu! How cool! Would you like to have a private, before school tutoring?” 

Widening his eyes in shock, the blond goes quiet. He shifts from leg to leg, shoulders scrunched in. Gradually, he peels open his eyes, searching for signs of deceit. Like an abused dog, Iruka absently observes, before shaking away the thought.

Like a flower unfolding, Naruto brightens with a small, shy smile.

“I guess,” he mumbles, then pauses. “If you want. Not like I need to!”

Rolling his eyes, Kakuzu turns on his heel, chuckling as Iruka sputters out an explanation for a simple henge.

His office door slams open five minutes later.

“Who gave you the _right_?” Iruka shouts. “Principal or not, Uzumaki is my student. I am the one who determines when he’s ready to—” the teacher fumbles, searching for an appropriate word, ”to—eliminate,” he weakly finishes.

“You mean kill,” Kakuzu dryly corrects, folding his hands under his chin. “Murder. Execute. Assassinate.” Iruka winces with each additional descriptor. 

“I mean ‘_eliminate threats_,’” he retorts, perhaps more harsh than is wise. “For the good of the village—“ 

“War machine propaganda.” Kakuzu snorts.

Iruka stares at him in disbelief. 

Kakuzu raises a brow. “You actually believe that,” he says, incredulous.

“Believe what?” Iruka blurts.

Kakuzu leans back in his seat, shaking his head.

_“Believe what?”_ The teacher repeats, flushing as Kakuzu bursts out laughing. His amusement leaks through his mask and fills the room, choking the air. Choking him. The laughter deepens until all 250 pounds of muscle shakes with it, flexing underneath his too-tight, too-thin, standard-issued gear. 

Iruka, 120 pounds and swimming in the same, feels very, very, small.

“It’s cute when you’re naive,” the headmaster finishes, voice gravelly. 

Embarrassing.

“Th…” Iruka’s cheeks go red. He shifts. “Thank… you?”

“It’s not a compliment.” Kakuzu bluntly replies, opening his ledger. He points down at the chair. “Sit.”

“...a-ah.” Iruka obeys, twiddling his thumbs as Kakuzu sets square-framed glasses over his eyes. 

“It seems to me,” he readjusts his glasses. “That your lesson plans need updating.”

“W-what? But—” 

“It is not sufficient to tell children to ‘love their village,’” Kakuzu dryly says, “You must teach them in such a way that it is impossible for them to consider disloyalty. Not once. Not even an inch. Do you understand?”

_I don’t._ Iruka swallows nervously, opening his mouth to answer.

“You’re too kindhearted.” Kakuzu interjects, as though reading his mind. With an aura of exhaustion, he reaches for a pen, scribbling something down on a piece of paper. He rips it out of his notebook, folding it into discrete eighths, before handing it over to Iruka. 

Iruka accepts the paper mutely, a pit of dread growing in his stomach. 

“...thank you,” he repeats, for lack of anything else to say.

“My address.” The principle crosses his arms. “For extracurricular lessons.”

...f—

_—fudge. _

Iruka musters up a smile. “May I, uh—” a vein pulses in his brow. “May I ask why?”

“No.” Kakuzu makes a shooing gesture. “I do not pay you to stand around and chit chat.”

“You don’t pay me at all,” Iruka points out. “It is the office of the Hokage that signs my checks, and, and... ah…” 

Kakuzu’s stare turns into a glower. 

“...never mind!” The teacher exclaims, jumping up. “Oh, look at the time! I better, ah, get ready for—” he searches his mind for an excuse. “Class! Yes, class! That starts, uh—!” 

_Shitake mushrooms._ Iruka realizes. I have no clue.

“I should greet the parents!” he shouts instead, tripping over himself as he makes a hasty exit, stage right. Dark skin and husky chuckles haunt him as he sprints down the corridor, all the way to the courtyard where parents have gathered with their children, where Naruto is showing off the first rendition of what he calls ‘Sexy no Jutsu’.

Iruka groans. Face, meet palm.

He hopes that is a nightmare, too.

**Author's Note:**

> TO BE CONTINUED . . . 
> 
> This is my first time writing Iruka, so I came up with a bunch of headcanons for his characterization to add depth beyond what we're given in the series. What do you think of him? His relationship with Kakuzu? How Kakuzu acts, in general?


End file.
